Echoes
by SerenNoir
Summary: Becoming a victim of the Hunger Games isn't the worst thing that could happen. No. The worst thing that could happen is waking up after you've lost. Clove doesn't realize it's not about beating the Games anymore, but about not letting the Games beat you.
1. Chapter 1

**Echoes **

_Chapter One_**  
**

**Comments**: I've decided to lurk over into this fandom for a little while. I've read the books three times through and like most people, am a fan. This is a very different take on the trilogy, and I hope most people like it. Some of the concepts of the AU setting are derived from movies like _Gamer_ and a little of the_ Matrix;_ they're only mentioned a little in the beginning however. This is **not **a crossover.

All references are going to made from the book, so if you're one of those people who've only seen the movies, be sure to PM me if you read something that's canon and you don't understand and I'll help clear it up for you. :) Shout-out to my beta, who helped out smooth out some inconsistencies and made this beautiful.

**Rating**: M, due to adult themes, language, and a little romance down the way

**Disclaimer**: I do not own anything mentioned within this story that is copyrighted.

* * *

I jerk into consciousness and I'm caught in a moment where my body is blissfully unaware of the state that it's in. The searing pain in my head is absent temporarily, until I finally clock back in and it takes me absolutely by surprise. It's all I can do to keep from screaming out loud. A thousand red-hot fingers scrape away at my brain and I can almost feel myself hemorrhaging. Pushing energy into my stiff limbs, I barely manage to roll onto my side before I vomit heavily. It's not much more than bile, which means I've been unconscious for at least a day or so.

I relax on the hard surface underneath me. I learned long ago, as a child, that by lying so, so still you could almost quit existing. I wait until the sound of my heartbeat has dulled to a soft whisper before I begin to take in my surroundings. The room is a pale shade of green and smells of antiseptic and cotton. There's a large glass window directly in front of me, but the blinds are drawn to keep people from peering in and I from seeing out.

My head still throbs agonizingly, and I try to block out the reason why that could be. It's a futile effort, though. Images of Thresh grasping me between his two large hands and then banging my skull savagely with a large rock scramble around all the questions that are just waiting to be acknowledged in my pounding head. I remember what it felt like to die. I remember how painful it had been to lie on that soft grass and just wait till my life slipped away.

Cato had knelt above me and begged for me to stay with him. I hadn't been able to tell then if he was being sincere or why exactly he had rushed to my aid. I wish I had found the strength to ask him. My vision had been completely consumed by the brightness that took over me as soon as Thresh had disappeared.

Cautiously, I raise a shaky hand to my throat. It still feels raw from screaming. Pain is confusing in this realm; if I remembered dying clearly enough, then why does everything still hurt? I never did have an affinity for religion and afterlives so the only viable reason that I am breathing now upon this table is that the Capitol saw fit to bring me back. How they accomplished this is frightening, but I try not to dwell on it right now.

Breathing through my nose, I sit up as carefully and fluidly as possible. Immediately, my head aches worse than before, and I have to fight to keep from getting sick again. I am clothed in a lightweight white gown that just reaches past my knees.

Sheer willpower has me touching my feet to the cold floor; my limbs seem so shaky, and I'm not positive my head and stomach will hold up to the change in equilibrium. Half-leaning onto the bed, I take in my surroundings. There is a glass door across from me; that definitely deserves an investigation. The rest of the room is devoid of everything except the bed and me. It is too sterile. Am I in a hospital?

"H-hello?" The syllables break out of my throat roughly, and the sound of my own voice almost has me clamping my mouth shut. Silence answers.

Gripping the bare tile with my toes, I shuffle to the door. The handle twists easily under my hand. It was enough to make me pause, a cold electrical charge sweeping through my chest. An unlocked door in an otherwise barren room? No one to greet me when I woke up?

I wonder whether this is a poorly-disguised trap or the people who've held me here have deserted the place. It's warm out in the hallway though, and that's enough to steady my resolve. My door is situated at the end of the hall and from my vantage point, I can see what looks like the remains of a scuffle. A sister metal bed is lying on its side along with a pair of bright yellow restraints; the end still screwed tightly onto the bed's sides. The room adjacent is in the same haphazard condition. Someone was here at some point and they weren't happy.

"Sir, he cannot process so much in so little time! Please allow me to administer the sedative." The voice echoes down the corridor from somewhere around the corner, warbled and pleading.

"He was one of our strongest Tributes; a little pain will not incapacitate him."

The second voice is familiar and along with it comes the image of the cruel, cold eyes of a snake.

Snow.

Snow is here and if anybody has the answers it would be him. The mystery of who has, more or less, resurrected me is no more though the pill is a little hard to swallow. As a Career, I had never had a second thought about what the Capitol was capable of; it was so easy to follow along with their wishes when the rewards were so great. Careers had won the Games year after year through the opportunities afforded to us by the Capitol. _This_ did not make sense, however.

I know I could play this one of two ways: barrel towards them irate and wild, or go back to my room as though I never left. I had always been one for theatrics, and so I'm poised and ready to let loose all my confusion and frustration on the two men when I hear it. When I hear _him_. It stops me cold in my tracks. He sounds muffled, like he is speaking through his hands and my chest lurches at the familiarity of his voice.

Had Cato won?

Is he the reason I'm standing here and breathing instead of laying six feet under dirt? Relief swims through the agony still pounding through my head. Cato winning means everything in our district; the difference between life and death. I push myself forward through the door.

Cato and the other man stare at me, bewildered, as I step into the room, though Snow outright avoids my gaze. Perhaps he suspected I had been hiding out in the hallway the whole time. Cato suddenly lunges at the President, outraged.

"You sick fuck! Her, too? How many of the others did you bring back?" he spits, struggling against the hold the other man had on him.

"So I _am_ alive because of you? What for?"

I direct this question at Snow, but he looks like he would want nothing more than to ignore me, but I'm now the elephant in the room and there isn't much he can do about it now. Cato stops struggling against his restraints, seemingly interested in what Snow has to say for himself.

Unsurprisingly, he motions for the other man to explain for him. I get a good look at this stranger for the first time. Cato towers over him and I suspect I do, too. Wisps of gray hair lay over his speckled head in a greasy comb-over, and his lab coat is a dingy off-white. _Doctor_ flashes through my mind briefly, but he looks far too nervous to be of any valuable use to Snow.

"You see," he begins in his warbly, nervous voice, "we haven't brought you back at all. You've never left. I administered a sedative strong enough to last for a few weeks, but you and your district partner seem to have woken up ahead of schedule."

I narrow my eyes, angry, and stalk towards him.

"I _died_ in that arena," I hiss, "That's not something I could have dreamt up; Thresh killed me as I was going after that District 12 bitch." Cato allows an expression of hurt cross his face briefly and I know he's thinking of that day, too. When he had knelt over me and begged for me to stay…

The doctor looks frantic now since Cato has continued to glare murderously at Snow.

"No, no, you never died," he protests, becoming seemingly more nervous by the minute. "No one did."

"I don't think you should tell her just yet," Snow finally pipes in. "Clove has never been one for…stability." The insult slides over me but doesn't penetrate; it isn't the first time I've had someone suspect I was a loose cannon.

"Except I want to hear this," Cato interjects, crossing his arms over his chest once the doctor releases him enough to do so. His stance his strong and rigid, so I know there's no way that Snow can just dismiss the whole situation now that Cato has a chance to get at him again. In a fair fight, there would be no hope for the old man against Cato's youth and strength. He'll be forced to tell us, even if he does think I'm touched in the head.

"Perhaps you would like some pain reliever first?" The doctor's voice is more timid than before and, I'm starting to actually think he believes what Snow said about me, "for your head?" I try not to question why he knows my head feels like it's threatening to split open, but I realize he's stalling.

"No. I feel fine," I lie effortlessly.

The doctor takes a deep breath and runs a shaking finger along his brow. "The Games were not real. The other tributes and you were never actually present." He looks reluctant to continue. "We interfaced your brains with a simulated arena—".

This time Cato is the one too shocked to move. Myself, however?

I lunge at Snow without hesitation, teeth bared, and it's by sheer timing that the doctor is able to stop me with a sharp needle to the back of the arm before I can do any major damage to the thick cord of tendon in Snow's neck. There was no way I had trained my entire life to fight in a fake game and still come up the loser.

Snow thought I was crazy and disturbed?

I'll show him disturbed.

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**ETA September 6, 2012: astrangecompassionforsnails over at Tumblr has made a beautiful fanmix for this work. You should go check it out! Link is available in my profile so go, go!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Echoes **

_Chapter Two_

**Comments**: I woke up one morning and wrote the entirety of this. If I can manage to write each chapter like I did this one, I'll be set for this entire shebang. It is largely unbeta-ed, but as soon as I get word back from my current beta, the looked-over version will be posted in its place. I'm really just as impatient as you guys.

**ETA: What you see below is the chapter after edits.**

**Rating**: M, due to adult themes, language, and a little romance down the way

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing that has a copyright attached.

* * *

This is the second time in twenty-four hours that I find myself waking up in a strange room alone. This time, however, there is a plush, warm mattress underneath my back instead of the cold, sanitary metal of a gurney. I lay there for a few moments, stubbornly keeping my eyes shut.

I'm having a hard time piecing together what the doctor had been trying to explain to Cato and I before he jammed his damn sedative into my arm. If the Games were truly fake, then how were they able to accomplish this? I had drawn first blood during the first dash to the Cornucopia; there has been no mistaking that as the other kid's body crumpled to the ground. So was the male tribute from District Nine alive, too?

The doctor had mentioned a simulator they interfaced with our brains. Compared to some of the other technology the Capitol came up with, this hadn't seem too far-fetched. But was it possible to build something on such a large scale that everything felt all-too-real for us, and we were none the wiser?

My head doesn't ache which makes me wonder what else was inside that injection besides a sedative. Instead, my entire body feels crushed and shapeless almost as if I spent the whole night on a concrete floor and not in a bed. I finally raise my eyelids, observing the room for the first time. It's bathed in shadows, but there's enough light creeping through the closed shutters that I can make out what's around me. It's identical in appearance to the room I stayed in at the Capitol before the Games. Could I be there?

I sit up, bracing myself for the vertigo that came on the day before when I did this. Surprisingly, this time there is no crushing pressure or pain. My hair feels cumbersome around my face and it's only when I brush it away from the nape of my neck do I feel the thick scab beneath my fingertips.

It's hard and about the size of a dime, but it's enough to send me reeling into a panic. I claw at it furiously, stumbling out of the bed and into the adjoining bathroom for a mirror. The scab is now peeling away underneath my nails as I twist my body to get a better view of my neck. It wells with fresh blood and I hastily wipe away the mess. Underneath is a clean, perfectly circular entry wound. I can't see how deep it is and I'm not about to probe a finger around to find out.

My mouth waters as I fight the urge to get sick; I don't remember receiving this injury in the arena. The Capitol has inflicted this wound and the placement and proximity to my brain does not escape my radar. The hole is too precise to be that of a tracker jacker stinger and too big to be a syringe.

This could have been how they interfaced us with the simulator. The idea of someone inserting something into my brain stem has me moving quickly to the bedroom door. I turn the knob as it simultaneously swings towards me. Cato is standing on the other side.

"Good, you're awake. We need to talk."

He brushes past me and I spin on my heel, biting down on my tongue hard. I notice Cato has a similar wound nestled between the short, blonde hairs at the back of his head. He perches on the edge of my bed, his heavy, muscular frame dwarfing everything around him. Cato makes a habit of making everything around him feel instantly weaker in comparison. It is something I've only recently grown accustomed to during our years of training together.

"So what have you figured out?" he presses on. I appreciate that Cato thinks enough of me to know that I'm capable of coming to my own conclusions about our predicament.

"They...stuck something in our heads so that we would experience the Games, but we were somehow never actually a part of them." I'm pacing in frustration at this point. There are too many loose ends that need to be answered, and I don't know where to begin. "The dead tributes aren't really dead; their simulations are."

My stomach bottoms out suddenly as I realize what I'm saying. "You didn't win." Cato's eyebrows stitch together and he looks away.

"How could you have not won?" It sounds hypocritical coming out of my mouth, another defeated Tribute, but my bets had always been on myself first, and Cato second.

"I was close," he replies shortly. The feral look in his eyes convinces me not to press further. "You're right about everything, as far as I can tell. I think they must have knocked us out sometime after we boarded the train after the Reaping; it would have been the easiest time to do so."

"It also could have been after our interviews. Everything I told Caesar all came out of my head, alone."

Cato's expression holds sorrow when he looks up at me. "How do you know, Clove? How can you be sure?"

I clench my fists at my sides. How could such a large chunk of my life be missing? The false memories were real to me so where did I start drawing the line? Cato sits, silent, clasping and unclasping his fingers. It looks as if he wants to say something, but is holding it back instead.

"Spit it out! If everyone here is going to be keeping secrets from me, like hell you're going to be one of them," I snarl, stepping forward and pushing him roughly. He jerks forward as if he plans to hit me, but stops himself.

"How about instead of taking this out on each other, we team up to find out what the hell is going on? Right now, I'm not your enemy Clove. The District Twelve brats won, I think. Both of them were still alive when I fell. If we're not really dead, does that mean they didn't actually win? It's been eating at me; where are all the others? I thought I was alone until you showed up yesterday."

"The doctor said we just woke up ahead of time," I reply, absentmindedly. My thoughts are still circulating around what Cato had said about Twelve. How could Fire Girl and Boy Bread Wonder be the winning tributes? They were so pathetic.

"Meet me outside after you're dressed," Cato breaks through my thoughts. I can tell he has his mind set on something, and in this situation it'd probably be easier to just go along with him than to argue.

After the door clicks shut behind him, I locate a wardrobe right outside the bathroom door hidden by a revolving panel and borrow a change of clothes from its contents. I discover a pair of brown leather boots sitting at the back of the wardrobe and although I have to wrinkle my nose at their feminine cut, they fit on my feet comfortably.

The shower yells one last plea for my attention, but I wrap my dark hair in a loose bun at the back of my head and head out the door. Cato is leaning against the wall across from me, and when he sees me he shoulders away and motions for me to follow him. I don't know how much of the place he has explored as I slept, but he seems to have a good handle on his whereabouts.

"Have you gone outside yet?" I question, as we pass a window. I press my fingertips up against the glass, peering out. The scenery is a lot like the wilderness we saw as we neared the Capitol. Except it's so quiet and empty here. There are no high-rise apartments and throngs of Capitol citizens mulling in the streets.

"Yeah, but it was still dark and I couldn't see much. We're in a lowland surrounded by mountains on all sides, and there are about a dozen buildings like ours," he answers back, leaving me behind at the window.

It becomes apparent that we're in a normal two-bedroom house before we even wander upon the small kitchen and sitting room. It's all I can do to hold back a laugh at how domestic it all is. Training on the same team with Cato was a trial; their hopes of us staying together in peace would be disastrous. However, I don't plan on sticking around that long to find out; I'll walk back to District Two if I have to.

As soon as I step out the front door, I notice the scent of the juniper trees on the wind. This particular tree grows wild in our district by the numbers. My walk back home might not be such a feat after all. Cato pauses outside of the front porch, cautiously surveying the similar houses around us. Once he decides we are in no obvious danger, he leads me toward a rectangular gray-bricked building at the bottom of a hill towards our left.

This door is also unlocked; they must forget how dangerous some of us are. How angry some of us still are. We're back in the hospital I woke up in yesterday, though he doesn't seem as surprised as I am.

"After they had to drug you, the doctor and his assistants escorted me to the house we're staying in. They had to drag you."

I sneer at his smug face. "Why do you deserve special treatment, and I sedatives? You can easily snap their necks; I don't even have my knives with me," I argue.

"You have your teeth," Cato smirks ruthlessly, "and you did a number on the President's neck. I would have knocked your ass out, too. I was merely trying to threaten them into answering my questions, and you arrive all hell-fire and fury and ruin everything."

He ruffles my hair roughly. "Like usual, little Clove."

I knock his hand away angrily. I didn't have much to do with Cato before the Reaping, but it seemed as soon as he volunteered after me, he went out of his way to piss me off. Though only a year older than me, he severely underestimated my abilities, and my patience. He made a point to joke with District One's tributes that I was his "kid sister"who followed in his "large shadow". Several times during training days, I felt like sinking my knives into his soft flesh rather than wooden dummies.

He finds the doctor in his office a moment later, and my anger is redirected at him within a moment's notice. The older man looks up from the documents in front of him, no where as flighty and nervous as he was the night before.

"We're here to talk, not to maim." He says the last bit with a pointed look in my direction, and it takes every ounce of willpower in me not to hiss back at him. The doctor seems very relaxed around us now and it makes me wonder if he's medicated himself.

"I think introductions are in order first. I know who you are, Cato and Clove. My name is Docere. I'm the physician in charge of this facility and the well-being of you two, as well as the rest of the Tributes. President Snow wasn't very cooperative with your questions the first time around, but I've had a long night to think things through."

Cato shakes the hand he extends out to him and I'm taken aback by how polite he can be; I would have never thought he would have a sliver of it in that brutish body of his.

"So Docere, can you explain to us what this is for?" Cato immediately fires off, directing to the wound on his neck.

The man's face lights up in excitement. "Oh yes, that! That is my greatest accomplishment! You've probably already come to the conclusion that was something was inserted into the back of your head. You're absolutely right about that." Cato's face blanches and I can feel that sick feeling roiling in my own stomach. Docere must notice, because he waves his hands casually. "Don't worry; it has done no damage aside from that entry wound you see. What I inserted was actually far, far smaller than that."

"You see," he continues, pushing a couple of diagrams towards us, "is that I've invented a microscopic fiber that is carefully inserted through the back of the occipital lobe and into your corpus callosum." He points to a white, meaty layer in the middle of the brain on the page. "In the shortest terms possible, the corpus callosum connects the two hemispheres of your brain and relays messages and signals via axons back and for-".

"You might as well be speaking another language right now," I interrupt. "You think you could perhaps get to the point." I hated when people talked above my head. Docere is not phased by my attempted rudeness however, and continues on.

"My biosynthetic fiber acts as a Trojan horse and integrates itself as one of the neural fibers. Through it, I was able to send false signals of your time in the arena across the hemispheres."

I process this slowly as Docere goes on to further explain that we were all "hooked up" shortly after our last interview with Caesar. Relief floods me as I realize my time in the training center had all been real memories. That narrows it down to when it all started to become hazy.

"And there's absolutely no damage to our brain?" Cato questions, and I understand his trepidation at believing the doctor immediately; my head felt like it was going to explode yesterday.

"The brain is a very tricky and complicated territory. I can promise no physical damage, but it may have compensated for all the fake neural signals with very real sensory repercussions. Have you heard of phantom sensations, Clove?" This is the first time he's directly questioned me since we entered his office, and I'm surprised for a moment before I find my nerve.

"I've studied it. One of the Peacekeepers in the Nut lost his leg during the Rebellion, and he said he could still feel it sometimes." The doctor nods.

"Yes, tell me Clove, how did you perish in the arena?" I feel vulnerable and ashamed of my death suddenly; I was not a martyr. I had my skull indented in by an angry boy with a big rock. Worse yet, I had been screaming for Cato's help seconds before.

"I'm assuming a brain hemorrhage," I mumble back, not meeting anyone's eyes.

"You're correct. Well, partly. You obviously know your skull is not crushed, but because of those memories and signals sent across your brain, it thinks the skull is. As a result, you will experience very debilitating migraines, as I'm sure you already have. I will provide the necessary pain medication, but the full effects of the bio-fiber will probably last for a couple more months until the brain can fully re-route itself."

At least now I know why my head was hurting so badly yesterday, though the prospect of lying in bed incapacitated for the next two months does not sit well with me.

"And Cato, this means something totally different from you. Your injuries in the arena were far more serious than Clove's. At times, you'll probably have to be placed on morphling to subdue you."

I turn to Cato, wanting to question him though I know I probably shouldn't. He clammed up when I found out he died; asking him how that happened would likely give fewer results.

"Yeah, that's putting it a little lightly. Though I'm glad to know why I didn't get any sleep last night," my partner replies sarcastically, and I can see his fingers clench down around his knees. What happened to him? "One more question Doc, why? Where are we and why are we here?"

Docere shakes his head sadly. "I can't tell you why you're here just yet. We call this place District Zero; it was created shortly before the beginning of the 74th Hunger Games. Snow…had a plan for you all, but I don't know if he plans to see it through. Do know that your group of tributes are the only ones that were ever hooked up to the simulator and probably will be the only ones."

I notice Cato's jaw clenching next to me, and know it's not a good sign. That was not the answer he was looking for. "Is that all you can tell us about this place?"

"Everybody else was scheduled to awake this morning shortly after nine o'clock. My assistants will be standing post to do damage control; I'm sure most of you will have issues with each other, but you have to remember all these issues are imaginary and just simulated conflicts. You're protected here. Trust me, you don't want to be out in the real world just yet after what everyone's seen you do."

"Just because my issues during the arena were made up doesn't mean I didn't think less of everyone else to start with," Cato snubs, and I agree with him. We were made to be better than everyone else; they didn't possess our skill or talents. There had never been any reason we shouldn't have won. Given a fair fight in a real arena, I'm certain one of us would have came out on top.

Cato moves to leave, angry, and I rise to follow him. The majority of my questions have been answered, and although Snow's plan eats away at me, I know I'm not going to get any more out of the good doctor today.

"One last thing, you two. The other tributes will be just as confused and disoriented as you were. It might be best if you're not the first people they see, so stay inside today."

Cato nods stiffly, stalking out of the room and down the hallway. I glance back once to see Docere standing awkwardly behind his desk, empty hand still outstretched. I rush to follow Cato back outside, shaking to get the image out of my head. His parting words do not resonate with me, however, until we're just outside the front doors of the hospital.

A large, hulking man stands at the top of the hill leading towards the houses and from this distance, I can see his fingers curl into a fist and his nostrils flare in outrage.

Thresh would definitely be the last person that wants to see us.


	3. Chapter 3

**Echoes**

**Comments:** I've started cross-posting this over at Ao3 just to get it out in more places. This chapter is a lot longer than the rest; I just had so much to say! Enjoy the update!

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing that has a copyright attached.

**_Chapter Three_**

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I am not prepared for the immediate anger. It courses through my chest, white-hot, and leaves me shaking. Docere's words are lost on me now. Thresh has his eyes set on Cato, though. Every cell in my body screams rage and a thousand possible scenarios of revenge flit through my head. This _simpleton_ was responsible for my death; I deserved better.

Cato falls back into a defensive stance as we both see Thresh ever-so-slightly lead with his chest and come barreling towards us. The impact of their bodies emits a blunt, thudding sound as Thresh tackles Cato around the waist. Though matched in size, the momentum causes Cato to lose his footing, and they both crash to the ground locked together, fists flying.

"Stay back!" Cato yells at me, halting me from where I'm about to stomp in Thresh's head with my boot. My vision bleeds red at his words; this was my fight and I wasn't about to be told to stay out of the way!

Thresh notices his opening and delivers a sharp hook of his own. Cato's lip splits like a overripe peach. He spits, spraying Thresh's bare chest with blood which only serves to make the other man angrier. I lurch forward, instinct and rage driving me, as I witness Thresh's hands wrap around Cato's neck. I grapple with Thresh's back, digging my nails into his skin. He curses gruffly and swings me off. Cato claws upward, face contorting as the air is robbed from his body. I have no weapons. Thresh is easily over twice my size. Knocking him off Cato by sheer force is out of the question. I do the only thing that comes to mind; I hit him.

My knuckles meet the soft area of his temple and he grunts angrily, whipping his head around to look at me. His golden eyes flash and he grabs me by the back of the neck, slamming my face into the dirt beside Cato. I rise back up as far as hold will allow me, spitting venom and fire. I notice Cato's eyes are watering at this point and any minute he will either black out from lack of oxygen or Thresh will succeed in crushing his windpipe.

Thresh moves his hold from the back of my head to my long hair, twisting and pulling the strands in his grasp to hold me still. I howl and kick out with my feet, just barely able to graze Thresh's ribs. A feeling passes through me and it's foreign and unwanted: helplessness. Cato is no longer struggling as he was moments before, hands wrapped feebly around Thresh's wrists in the hopes of loosening the man's grip.

"Thresh! Stop now!"

The young voice rings out in the mountain air, at once powerful and frightening. Something snaps inside of Thresh and from my angle, I can just barely make out shame in his eyes. He releases my hair and Cato at the same time.

Rue stands above him, tugging him to his feet. Tears streak down her dark cheeks as she pulls on his arm to put distance between us. When her eyes meet mine, I'm able to see the fear in them. She could have let Thresh kill Cato, but she stopped him and that baffles me more than anything else I've learned today. The odds of her survival in the arena were slim to none; she should have been glad to see revenge.

Quickly, she rushes Thresh up the hill towards the houses and it's then that I see the rest of the tributes have gathered around, watching the spectacle. My eyes sweep over the familiar faces of my victims, muscle memory reminding me of easy it had been to throw a knife into their bodies. Marvel and Glimmer are at the fore-front, shock painted on their faces.

Beside me, Cato sits up coughing raggedly. Dark red fingerprints adorn his neck and he rubs at them harshly. I want to ask if he's okay, but adding insult to injury doesn't seem the best route of action right now. He's silent as he pushes himself to his feet and begins walking away from me.

Glimmer approaches us, but I stubbornly walk past her; the last position I want to be in is having to explain to her what's happened to all of us. The rest of the tributes are not my responsibility, and I feel a swell of anger when Cato stops to humor her. How can he stand her giant doe eyes right now when Thresh had nearly killed him a few moments ago?

I slam the front door to our shared quarters with a little more force than what is probably necessary, but I need to make a point even if I can't find the words at the moment. The sitting room is too pristine for my roiling thoughts, so I snatch the cushions from the couch and pillow them underneath me on the floor.

Thresh had held me immobile with just one hand to the back of my head regardless of my attemps to free myself. Yes, he is as strong as they come, and it isn't the first time he has manhandled me, but it leaves me with a sour, white-hot feeling in my gut. Cato was overpowered, and I had been forced to watch as Thresh choked the life out of his eyes. My feelings of weakness bothers me much more than I want to fully admit to myself. The door slams again behind me, and I flinch despite myself. My nerves are still shot.

"I have to say that's not how I pictured our reunion to be," Cato quips, moving around me to sit on the cushion-less couch. "What are you doing down there?"

I don't answer him, instead standing and chucking the cushions beside him. "Why does Thresh want to kill you?" I blurt out. I had imagined the shock of being alive would have zapped the rest of the Tributes of their aggression. Angry, yes. Blood-thirsty, no.

"Probably because I killed him first," he replies, stretching his long body out on the sofa.

"Oh, I thought Cat-Piss took him out." Cato is Thresh's only real competition, but admitting to myself that Cato killed him would also mean admitting that Cato probably killed him out of retaliation. For me. As much as my district partner wants to believe we are allies, we still have absolutely no emotional baggage between us. We are barely partners, much less friends. Besides that, Cato and chivalry never really mixed.

He gingerly prods at the mottled bruises that are just beginning to show on his neck, and a wave of embarrassment for him runs me through. Seeing Cato capable of injury is a lot like how it was to see my father cry for the first time. Blood still gathers on his lower lip. I take my leave of the room without explanation as quickly as I can and lock myself in the bathroom.

It seems a good of a time as any to finally take that bath, so I strip myself out of my borrowed clothes. While this bathroom lacks the high-tech sprays and foams the Capitol had, there's a various assortment of bath oils and soaps in a basket by the tub. Sinking beneath the water offers me the comfort I've been seeking all day as if I'll find all the answers that way. When my lungs begin to ache I emerge a little clear-headed than before.

First on my agenda is to question Snow ruthlessly. Find out why he is keeping us here, and what he plans on doing with us. Who knew when he was going to show his face again though? He would likely want to see me even less. Tearing at someone's throat with your teeth doesn't exactly put you in their good graces, but Snow was never in mine.

A cloud of steam billows out into the cool bedroom when I unlock the door, and I wrap the towel tighter around me to trap more of the heat. There is a glass of water and a couple of round, white pills lying on the bedside tabe. My eyes shoot to the door, suspicious. I hadn't noticed them when I came in, but it's unlikely Cato would have brought my painkillers in to me.

I swallow them as I dress, slipping out of my room. Cato is still spread out over the couch, one arm thrown over his eyes, and chest rising with every inhale. It's safer not to disturb him now that he has finally fallen asleep. I'm not expecting the kitchen to be as well-stocked as it is. How long have they been expecting us? How long have we been a part of Snow's plan?

I'm halfway through my peanut butter sandwich when I hear loud yelling outside. _The rest must have finally clued in, _I muse, making my way to the front door. I can see they are gathered in a semi-circle in front of my house, arguing. None of them notice me as I walk out towards them.

"I think we should all say what we remember last; I think that will help us remember everything," the girl from District Six recommends, her ridiculous blonde pigtails bouncing with her excitement.

"It obviously doesn't matter what we remember last since we can't be sure what we can remember is the truth," Marvel shoots back. For some reason, I am thankful that Cato has left him in the dark.

Pigtail girl looks as if she wants to argue with him, but I step into the middle of the circle before she can open her dumb mouth. To my delight, the majority of the group shrinks back from my presence.

"I am increasingly surprised at how _dumb _you all are." Glimmer's mouth drops open dramatically, and I really have to wonder how someone so proper and girly turned into a Career.

"Give us one good reason why we shouldn't kill you right now?" District Six's male threatens bravely, stepping towards me.

I snarl, fingering the hilt of the knife I stuck in my pants from the kitchen. "Just one? The obvious being that I know more ways to kill you in under five seconds than your underwhelming brain can comprehend. I'm also the only one that knows where we are, but if you think you have a shot, please try me."

The boy looks flabbergasted, caught between wanting to back up the tough exterior he is putting on for show and backing down from a fight he knows he can't win. Thresh solves his dilemma for him by stepping in front of the kid and glaring down his nose at me.

"There will be no more fighting," he asserts lowly. I don't like him taking charge of the group like this and acting as if he'll protect them from Cato and I. However, the tone of his voice doesn't leave much in the way of an argument right now. Not after what he did to Cato.

"Fine. Control your lambs, and I'll try not to slaughter you all out of pity."

Thresh's reply is interrupted by the sudden, silent arrival of a hovercraft in a circle of clear space in front of the houses. Its monstrous body appears out of thin air and sets down just as quietly. I notice Docere wanders out from the hospital as if he somehow heard its descent, curious. The steel ramp unfolds from the side of the craft, fluidly unraveling towards the ground.

Docere reaches my side as President Snow emerges from within, surrounded by his guards. The doctor visibly blanches next to me and turns as white as the old president's hair. At once, his disposition on the first day becomes clear to me. He had never been frightened of Cato and I; it is Snow who terrifies him.

The rest of the group is wide-eyed, staring up at Snow with hope in their eyes. He smiles rougishly, sweeping a liver-spotted hand over his platinum hair.

"Children, Tributes, I'm glad to see you all well and awake. I am certain you have a lot of questions for me, and in time, I will answer them all."

The raucous that erupts seems to overwhelm Snow, because the smile drops from his face in a matter of moments.

"You are all a unit, a single undivided entity. As a unit, you will work together and collaborate and achieve the goals that are set before yo-".

"How are we alive?!" one of the district females interrupts, and the group explodes again.

"Enough!" Snow commands, patience a thing of the past. "I have saved you all from extinction because you have a purpose. You did not win the 74th Hunger Games, because I have set aside a task for you that means more. Do not question your existence anymore and turn your attention to what you are now meant to do."

I catch Docere's eye. Is this the same task that he wouldn't tell Cato and I about? The old man stares back with the wide eyes of startled prey, and pushes backwards through the crowd. I sneer at his retreating back. _Coward._

"Over the next few weeks, everyone will be required to attend training sessions. Those caught skipping will be punished accordingly. In six weeks time, training will conclude and all of you will be transported east to begin your next assignment. Think of this not as a punishment but as a second chance. Training begins tomorrow; do not be late."

Snow pivots and stalks back towards the still-running hovercraft; clearly done speaking with the plebian masses. I slip towards the house without anyone noticing; Cato needs to know these new developments. He would understand as much as I did that Careers are trained for the Games, but a training of a mixed group can only mean one thing.

We are to be Snow's personal army. An army against what, though?

I've just shut the door behind me when I'm struck by a horrible keening noise coming from down the hall. The sound is muffled, but I can still discern that it's Cato. I make my way to his bedroom with deliberation; self-persevearance tells me to take caution to what I may find. He lies face-down on his bed, face completely smothered into his pillow, and he is screaming. The severe rigidity of his body is the only thing that keeps me from backing out of the room.

I hesitate briefly as he groans in pain, the sound tortured and coming from deep within his chest. When I move to touch his shoulder, he flinches violently away from me. The angle of his body looks weird like the tension in his muscles is not being controlled by him. My fingers skim his shoulderblade, and I jerk my hand back, eyes widening in horror. Sweat has soaked through his thin t-shirt, but more importantly every single one of his muscles is locked tight and spasming violently underneath my hand.

Quickly, I roll him over onto his back. The pillow and his chin are covered in blood where he's tore into his cheek with his teeth against his will. Somehow, he's still concious through this. His eyes fall to mine, wild and filled with agony. Not knowing what else to do, I climb into bed next to him and pull his head into my lap cautiously. He yells out through his clenched teeth, and a fresh sheen of sweat erupts on his forehead. I reluctantly smooth back his sodden blonde bangs, out of my element.

Docere is right; Cato's ghost pains are a lot worse than mine. Pills spill out over the comforter next to us, where he presumably tried to get them open before he succumbed to the total lock-down of his body. I grab one and jab it between his teeth, using my finger to slide it towards the back of his tongue.

"If you bite me, I swear to god I'll rip you apart," I threaten him, voice strained. He gags around my finger. "The same goes for throwing up on me." I assist him with swallowing by massaging his throat with my fingers, watching the pill make its way slowly down. The ice blue of eyes lock with mine in that moment, and I feel like I'm trapped in his vulnerability. His pain embarasses me, and I look around his room instead. Cato is never supposed to be like this, and I'm certainly never supposed to witness it.

Slowly, like a sleeping limb waking up, his body relaxes bit by bit as the medication starts to take effect. His jaw loosens underneath my hands, and I pull them back sharply, afraid that he'll think I am coddling him. He swallows thickly, a small smirk spreading across his lips.

"I'd like to see that," Cato murmurs. He continues to try and hold my gaze, but at this point I am stubbornly looking everywhere but.

"How did you die, Cato? If I'm going to be the one to hold your hand through this shit, I need to know what I'm up against." I don't add that I hope I never have to be in this same spot again. When I glance back at his face finally, I notice his eyes are unfocused and clouded.

"The Capitol created these wolf-hybrid muttations and made them look like everyone. District 12 and I were stranded on top of the Cornucopia when they knocked me off." His eyes come to rest on me again. "Your mutt attacked me right here," he continued, laying a hand on his chest directly over his heart. "Katniss shot an arrow into my head to put me out of my misery."

I balk at his admission, sliding out from under him. Before I can move off the bed, he encircles my wrist with his strong hand. "Don't go." I pull at his grip, realizing he's not going to let me free.

"Stay." His words are slurred now, the drugs finally sedating him.

"I don't want to." He lays still, looking up at me, processing my response. I am thankful for the medication as his drowsy blinking hides the eyes that are too raw, too ungaurded, and too searching.

"I have seen you capable of such horrible things, Clove. What you did for me is the first selfless thing I've ever seen you do. Just stay."

I sit on the floor next to the bed petulantly. His face is void of expression, but he continues to stare at me from underneath his lashes. It's invasive and unnerving, and I find myself shifting uncomfortably against my better judgement. "Will you stop looking at me like that?!" He acquiesces, but not before tightening his grip around my hand. I pull again at the restraint, this time feebly, exhaustion and annoyance wearing me down.

Today, I've had to assist Cato more than once in ways that I'm not okay with. Careers and vulnerability do not mix. I can't place my finger on it, but something about Cato has shifted. It shown in his eyes earlier, unrecognizable. I still find myself nodding off next to him, forehead heavy against the side of the mattress.

Through it all, Cato still doesn't let go of my wrist.


	4. Chapter 4

Echoes

Disclaimer: I own nothing that has a copyright attached.

Comments: Nursing school is the absolute worst when it comes to doling out free time. Sorry 'bout it. Chapters from now will be unbeta'ed so if there is an error too egregious to not mention, let me know.

_Chapter Four_

* * *

"Do you think they've figured out his agenda?" Cato says this around an apple he's been munching on since we left the house. A little of the juice dribbles from the corner of his mouth, and I have to glance away, annoyed. I can't look him in the eye yet after last night, and every little thing he does gets under my skin. He's expecting an answer out of me though.

"I doubt it. Maybe Marvel and Glimmer; only Careers would be able to catch on to something like that."

"So Snow needs an army, but where's the war?" he fires back, an amused grin set upon his face. If anything, Cato's been absolutely delighted at the recent turn of events ever since I told him earlier this morning what Snow had said. This was only after he spooked me by standing above me until I awoke; I honestly couldn't be blamed for the superficial cuts on his chest courtesy of my knife that I had tucked away beneath my shirt.

The morning sunlight probes at the sensitive spaces behind my eyes, pain a distant flare at the tip of my spine. I skipped my medication today just to see how long I could go without it. I refuse to feel weak because of something as simple as a little migraine, especially considering what I went through last night with Cato. If we are going to be training today, I need to be at the top of my game; head clear from the heavy fog of sedative.

Overnight, they erected a military-style obstacle course in the empty space between our temporary houses. It was paltry and spare; nothing here would be of any help to the weaker, skinnier Tributes. Nevertheless, I lean against one of the inclined wooden walls and wait for instruction. Training is base. Training is something I sign up for without question even if I am uncomfortable playing as Snow's pawn this go around. I could still train and forget.

Thresh and Rue are perched upon the vaults across from me. He sits with his chin resting on his interlocked fingers, eyes tracing Cato's movements across the yard. Rue, however, stares me down non-threateningly. Her sharp eyes seem to be digesting my reaction to Thresh. Luckily for me, I've had enough experience perfecting my poker face.

The rest of the Tributes eventually stumble out groggily to join us. I can tell quickly that unless a life or death situation is on their hands many of them are not morning risers. Marvel swaggers to the forefront, sizing up the faces near him as he passes each Tribute.

"Okay, listen up, people! We're going to hit the ground running this morning. Training will be far more intense than what any of us have experienced so far. You heard Snow, we're all meant for a higher purpose here, which means that we all need to be at the best of our abilities. So, ten laps around the perimeter of the houses!"

Marvel sets off at a dead sprint. For a moment, it looks like no one is going to follow, but the Tributes reluctantly start jogging, grumbling under their breath the whole time. Cato and I bring up the rear. One look and I can tell he's unhappy that Marvel has appointed himself leader this morning. I could really care less about who's in charge of this crapshoot; if Snow thinks he can transform these weakling children into toy soldiers, he's going to be sorely disappointed.

The pace is too slow for what I'm normally used to; I've always been an excellent runner over long distances. Before long, Marvel is panting too loudly next to me, and I gain the forefront with ease. My own thoughts and the pounding headache at my temples spur me to veer off into a thicket of tall pines. The group crashes through the trees behind me and without knowing it, I've opted to lead. I try to pick the most congested paths to pose as more of a challenge; fallen logs and low-hanging branches will only force them to be more aware of their surroundings. There is no such thing as proper training without distractions.

Sweat pools heavily between my breasts and the back of my neck before I finally slow to a stop to give everyone a chance to catch their breath. Silence reaches my ears. I turn slowly, fully expecting to be alone because everyone had given up two miles back. Instead, they're all grouped within the trees, watching me intently. The silence in itself is unnerving, but they all act as if they're waiting for me to dictate their next move. That is especially odd.

"Why the hell is everyone still standing around? Move!"

They scatter quickly, jogging back the way we've come. Cato is the only one left still leaning against a tree, his arms crossed and his infamous all-knowing smirk plastered upon his face. My skull is throbbing far too much to put up with his ostentatious attitude; his bad habit of always acting like he knows something I don't really puts me on edge sometimes.

"Well, well, well. Look at you, little Clove. Slaughtering them one day and shepherding them the next. If I hadn't seen it with my own two eyes, I would never believe it." His tone is mocking, and it only sets my teeth to a slow grind.

"Fuck off. I was just running, and everyone followed me," I pant. A run like that normally doesn't take so much out of me, but my decision to forgo my painkiller this morning is really coming back to bite me in the ass.

Cato steps close suddenly, lying a palm against the side of my head. "You're hurting."

"Jeez, is it that obvious?!" I dodge and swat at his hand. I'm not as comfortable as he is sharing my _condition._ "Just don't touch me; you'll make it worse."

He rolls his eyes skeptically, but I don't give him the luxury of another retort and begin walking back towards the camp. He laughs, slightly jogging to keep pace with me. "I think you should do it. Appoint yourself General of Snow's child-army."

"And I think you should shut your mouth," I interrupt, casting him a malicious glare from the corner of my eyes.

He pivots to face me, deftly walking backwards without once stumbling. Show-off. "No, I'm serious. They're all terrified of you so gaining their compliance would be incredibly simple. You're pretty bossy, too. You know as well as I that Marvel has no clue what he's doing, and District Two has always had more reconnaissance experience."

"I don't want the responsibility of training a bunch of losers so will you just drop it!"

Cato holds his hands up in a plea for surrender. "Okay, sorry I mentioned it."

We fall into silence, the sounds of our boots crunching against the earth our only company. The double entendre of my statement plagues my mind the rest of the trip back. They were all losers not just in the sense of an insult, but also in the fact that they couldn't even have the decency and honor of a real death in the arena. _I _would rather be dead right now. Somewhere along the way in my childhood, my existence took a back burner to my personal pride and ego.

Once we reach the edge of the tree line, it becomes obvious that Marvel is the furthest from the right choice. He has the tributes performing piss-poor calisthenics in the middle of the clearing; the back row isn't even bothering themselves to participate. The complete hopelessness of the situation drains me of energy. Whether or not I despised them, they were slated to be fighting beside me in whatever obstacles Snow thrust upon us. Like hell I was going to let them slow me up.

"Listen closely Cato, because this will be the one and only time I say this. You were right on this one," I mumble out the side of my mouth. Cato scoffs pretentiously next to me, but I can see the beginning of a pleased smirk spread across his lips.

"Tomorrow. We'll start this tomorrow."

* * *

Docere's office is dark as I approach, but by the harsh light of the hallway I can just make out the profile of his face through the window. I prop the door open with my body somewhat hesitant to enter.

"Why do you have the lights off?"

His head jerks sharply in my direction, startled. "Oh Clove! I didn't see you pass by." He touches the bridge of his glasses as if out of habit. The light from the hall casts across the top of his desk but leaves him still bathed in darkness. "You're here to discuss training the Tributes."

Now it's my turn to be startled. "What - how did you know?"

"Your profile has four distinctive personality traits. Did you know potential leadership skills is one of them?" He chuckles in the dark. "Does that surprise you? If it wasn't you, I would have put my bets on Cato or Thresh coming to me next."

I mull over these choices in my head. Cato would be a suitable partner at times, but I could not stand Thresh by my side nor would I allow him to dictate what I do. I'd rather see myself dead at the bottom of a lake than take orders from him. "For the record, I think this is a terrible idea. These children are weak with heads full of air."

Docere studies me for a long moment before pulling open the desk drawer near him. He withdraws a small capsule identical to the ones in my bedroom and lies it on the edge of the table. "You don't have to take it, but it'd make me feel better if you did. I can see you trembling from here."

I hadn't noticed. I was trying so hard to focus on his voice and not the sharp slice of pain at my temple. I lurch forward and swallow the pill without hesitation, tipping my head back to ease it down without the aid of water to accompany it. The analgesic effect swims through my bloodstream almost immediately, and I sag against the door in relief. My thoughts wander to Cato in that moment, whether he's had another attack since last night. I'm glad that I'm absent to witness it for a second time.

"My best advice to you," Docere continues in his soft voice, "is to train them like you were trained. It's no secret that some of the best child prodigies have emerged from the Career districts. You are young, but you are fierce Clove. Teach them to be fierce."

His eyes close and he slumps back in his chair and I know I am being dismissed. Although Docere is as cryptic as they come, I understand what he's told me and let the door close to behind me.

As I walk back towards the house Cato and I currently share, I let his words play through my head. It's true that Career training is physically and psychologically at the top of its game; it's one of the reasons District One and Two win the Hunger Games consistently. However, that was not the case this time and I'm afraid that it is the result of a personal fault and not poor planning.

How am I to train a group of teenagers to fight and win if I have already failed myself?


End file.
